Rest In Peace
by Ilanala
Summary: She didn’t know who had thought the last part, the human or the Cylon; were they really so different anyway?" -- Boomer in the aftermath of Kobol's Last Gleaming


She had shot him. Shot him and in all likelihood killed him. They called him the old man, like a father (a gruff, demanding, but still loving father), and she had shot him. She had shot him and now Tigh was in charge and the president was in the brig and the fleet would probably be destroyed and she couldn't for the life of her figure out whether that made her happy or not.

_This was your purpose all along_, said a voice in her head that was her own voice, and yet utterly alien. _You have fulfilled it at last. Be at peace. _The tone was gentle, but the meaning of "Shut up" came through all the same.

But there was no peace for her. She was alone in the brig except for two silent guards at the door, with nothing to do but see the commander's shocked expression in her mind and wonder how long it would be before they all died, while inside her a war was waged between Sharon the human who was a pilot and a daughter and a friend and a good person, and Sharon the Cylon who wasn't a person at all and would shoot her commanding officer without hesitation, even though the human Sharon had already lost.

After a few hours of sitting in (outward) silence, Apollo came in. There was a smudge of blood on his face that she didn't think was his (gods, she'd _shot _him), and he looked as though he hadn't slept in a week and had spent most of that time crying, although his eyes were dry. Human Sharon felt a surge of guilt; Apollo had always been kind to her, and she'd repaid that kindness by killing his father. _He's nothing to you, _Cylon Sharon reminded her. _None of them are. They'll be gone soon enough and you can forget them all._

Apollo stood in front of the bars and didn't look at her. "We need to know—" he started, then broke off. "Did you—" he tried again. He opened his mouth a third time, then closed it, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "This is stupid," he muttered, then turned and walked out.

_I'm sorry, _Sharon thought sadly. _At least it won't hurt for much longer_. She didn't know who had thought the last part, the human or the Cylon; were they really so different anyway?

After that, she was alone. She wondered why they didn't just execute her if they weren't going to try to get information out of her. Most likely they didn't want her rejoining the other Cylons and relaying any information she might have gathered. Or, perhaps they had realized that the best way to punish her would be to let her wallow in her guilt. She doubted it was the second; they probably didn't think Cylons felt guilt or hunger or cold or pain or sadness or love.

On the second day, she asked the guards for water. They looked at her suspiciously, like she wanted water for some nefarious Cylon plot and not because she was thirsty after two days without food or water, but in the end they gave it to her. She didn't ask for food; she didn't think they'd give it to her. Besides, although starvation was probably a terrible way to die, at least that would get her out of this horrible limbo.

She had lost track of the days (_It's been a week,_ said the part of her who knew these things) by the time she got her next visitor. Crashdown stomped into the brig and stood a few feet from the bars, a look of utter betrayal on his face. He didn't say anything, but his hand reached for the gun at his side, then snapped away.

"Do it," she said, hardly daring to let herself hope he would. "Just do it. I deserve it."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snapped. "Then you could transfer back to your Cylon buddies and tell them how you fooled all those stupid, gullible humans."

There was really nothing to say to that, so just stared back at him, silently pleading with him to set her free. "No," Crash said firmly, and her heart sank.

_They're weak, _said that traitorous voice. _As are you, but you were strong enough in the end._

"No," he repeated, crossing his arms to keep them away from his sidearm. "You're going to stay here, and when the old man wakes up, he'll see you pay for what you did." He left then, not realizing he had said more than he should have.

The commander was alive. She was torn between relief and anger and fear, and even the disparate sides of her personality weren't sure how they felt about this development. _It's still not over, _she thought, and she wanted to cry.

'There are worse things than death,' Dr. Baltar had told her, and now she knew he had been right. This in-between, this living hell of guilt and fear and uncertainty was worse than waking up among Cylons with the human part of her eliminated, or even than the oblivion of a human death.

She remembered putting the gun in her mouth, and though that if she had the chance now, she wouldn't miss. But there was no gun, and there was no end in sight, and she didn't know how she would be able to stand it. Tears jumped into her eyes, and she closed them to stop the tears from flowing.

Bowing her head, Sharon prayed—to the one god or the many or anyone who would listen to someone who was not quite Cylon, but never truly human—and begged for release, but no one answered.


End file.
